Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/To a Young Lady with a Poem

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

TO A

 

YOUNG LADY

 

WITH

 

A POEM

 

ON

 

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

 

 

MUCH on my early youth I love to dwell,
Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell,
Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale!
Yet tho' the hours flew by on careless wing,
Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
Aye as the star of evening flung its beam
In broken radiance on the wavy stream,

My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom
Mourn'd with the breeze, O^[1] Lee Boo! o'er thy tomb.
Where'er I wander'd, Pity still was near,
Breath'd from the heart and glisten'd in the tear:
No knell that toll'd, but fill'd my anxious eye,
And suff'ring Nature wept that one should die!^[2]

Thus to sad sympathies I sooth'd my breast
Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West:
When slumb'ring Freedom rous'd by high Disdain
With giant fury burst her triple chain!
Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd;
Her Banners, like a midnight Meteor, flow'd;
Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies
She came, and scatter'd battles from her eyes!

Then Exultation wak'd the patriot fire
And swept with wilder hand th' Alcœan lyre:
Red from the Tyrants' wound I shook the lance,
And strode in joy the reeking plains of France!

In ghastly horror lie th' Oppressors low,
And my heart akes, tho' Mercy struck the blow.
With wearied thought once more I seek the shade,
Where peaceful Virtue weaves the Myrtle braid.
And ô! if Eyes, whose holy glances roll,
The eloquent messengers of the pure soul;
If smiles more winning, and a gentler Mien,
Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain hath seen
Shaping celestial forms in vacant air;
If these demand th' empassion'd Poet's care—
If Mirth, and soften'd Sense, and Wit refin'd,
The blameless features of a lovely mind;

Then haply shall my trembling hand assign
No fading wreath to Beauty's saintly shrine.
Nor, Sara! thou these early flowers refuse——
Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their simple hues:
No purple bloom the Child of Nature brings
From Flatt'ry's night-shade: as he feels, he sings.

 

1. Note 1.
2. Note 2.